


break apart

by lilium_parvum



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Day and Night, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining Katsuki Yuuri, Pining Victor Nikiforov, Sad, Yuri on Ice - Freeform, day and night au, this is hurting me rip, yuri!!! on ice - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 07:15:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9808799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilium_parvum/pseuds/lilium_parvum
Summary: "He’d wake up in a field, at midnight, and in a new place every time.  It was a strange sensation, to acclimate to a place and then finding yourself in another a day later.  Viktor hated this.  He wanted a sense of security, stability.  But, more importantly, he wanted to know why he’d been doomed to this fate since the beginning of time."Viktor is day, and Yuuri is night.  Running into each other is rare, but when it happens, it's art.





	

**Author's Note:**

> hey! i had this idea in my english class today and actually cried a bit just imagining it. i always thought these two were so much like day and night and i finally decided to write it! i'm pretty happy with how it turned out, it's a bit short but overall i am happy with the emotions i've conveyed.

There was a sort of unpsoken allure that came from a sunrise, a quiet morning. It was a muted glow, one dusted with pastels, anxious to morph into the vivid blue sky. And, for a reason unknown to even himself, Viktor was the reason it happened each day.

He’d wake up in a field, at midnight, and in a new place every time. It was a strange sensation, to acclimate to a place and then finding yourself in another a day later. Viktor hated this. He wanted a sense of security, stability. But, more importantly, he wanted to know why he’d been doomed to this fate since the beginning of time.

A million pretty girls waltzed in and out of his life. And he truly loved each of them. It’s a shame that the one he loved most was doomed to the same fate as he--the irregularity of time and location--and suffered the pain unimagined by many.

\--

That day was particularly crisp. It was the tail end of autumn and the trees were now hauntingly bare, reduced to marrow and bones. They seemed to terrify the sky with their jagged, stripped branches and hardened bark. It was sunrise and the fog was just beginning to glide across the land, covering the field around Viktor in a hazy blanket.

He took several deep breaths, welling in his lower stomach and up through his chest. The air was still and Viktor’s own exhales seemed to make the scenery around him rattle for just a moment. He scanned his surroundings. He was in a field, small and triangular, with a curved retention area in the middle and intersecting highways surrounding him. Powerlines towered above the area and scraped the earth with their metallic coarseness. Viktor was lying in a patch of wildflowers--petite, frail, and yellow, like a girl. He picked one and set it adrift in the retention pond, watching its golden hue float against the pastel reflection of the sunrise. He sighed, rested his hands behind his head, and prepared for a long day.

Throughout the day, he wrote in his makeshift notebook and studied his surroundings. The tranquil oasis crammed between highways left Viktor longing for eternal, hidden beauty in another. Cars zoomed past him, but Viktor ignored them. Besides, the normal citizens couldn’t see him anyways--no one could. He was truly, wholly alone. But, in a way, it was alright. He could just continue to write love letters to the young, drunk, and beautiful from afar, hoping that one day they’d see him in the crowd and set him free.

But this highway had no one. It was too far from buildings, Viktor learned, to walk to people. So he used his notebook to create them. People in colors he’d never seen with faces more striking than anything he could imagine. They were the true young, drunk, and beautiful, because they weren’t real.

The day was slow-moving and had the vibes of a sticky, backwoods American day. Viktor could sense that everyone knew each other in this town. Around five P.M., though, something happened. Viktor was lying in the cool grass, viridescent in the fading sunlight. The air was becoming cooler, and Viktor knew that in a few hours he’d be in a new location and a new time and the bag under his eyes would be a new shade of despair. But then he heard a rattling in the wildflowers. And there stood a man, dark as night against the orange sunset.

They stared at each other for a few moments. “Who are you?” Viktor asked, sitting upright.

“I am Yuuri, and I am the night.” The man called back, now inching his way to Viktor. “You can see me. Who are you?”

“Viktor. And I think that I’m day, then.” Viktor inferred. He watched as Yuuri crept closer and sat down next him, calmly and with an elegant air. “I’ve been alone all this time. I never knew someone like you even existed.”

Yuuri stared into Viktor’s eyes. They were cold and blue and fit in with his baggy white sweater and denim boyfriend jeans. He was barefoot. Yuuri liked that. This man didn’t feel like a stranger. He felt like the opposite end of a magnet, dragging Yuuri in with his gaze. “Yuuri, was it? When do you usually show up?”

“I wake up around five or six in the afternoon, and by one in the morning I am out.”

“Looks like we’ve got a good window to talk now, then, since we’ll probably never encounter each other again.” Viktor stated. Yuuri grinned.

“Yeah.”

They talked for hours about the way that it goes down, their constant shifting. They talked about Yuuri’s love for Nirvana and how his black turtleneck was itchy. Viktor told Yuuri about sunrise, since Yuuri ahd never truly seen one before, and Yuuri told Viktor about the terrors of the night. “Sometimes there are people who are angry, not always at someone, just the world. And they decide to kill people because they are mad, not because they have reason to. And it tears me apart, really, because night is supposed to be dark and quiet. Not flashing police red and blue and sirens ringing.”

“That was beautiful,” Viktor breathed, resting a hand on Yuuri’s leg.

“Thanks. I love to write.”

Viktor beamed. “So do I!”

Only Viktor wrote poems, Yuuri wove stories. Each word Yuuri wrote was an image, a dusted, archaic Polaroid from nights that kids wish they could forget. Or an unforgettable tale of true honor, true love, and the quest for riches galore. His style was distinct, beautiful, and irreplaceable. And, as for Viktor’s poems, they were just feelings. But they seemed to touch Yuuri somewhere deep down, somewhere in the hollows of his ribs and the core of his emotions.

“Thank you, Viktor. You’re a lovely poet.”

“You’re a better writer.”

They leaned in. Close. Closer. Their lips connected. It was warm and comforting. Yuuri tasted of sweets to Viktor, and he couldn’t get enough. They kissed until it was pitch dark and the breath they’d both had was lost in the other’s swift kiss.

And then, things went black for Viktor. It was far too late now. He’d wake up somewhere new, and Yuuri would be nothing more than a memory.

The next morning, Viktor was in a place that was already snowy. There was no green, no redneck country home, no Yuuri. Just frigid temperatures and angry Northerners. His cheeks were rosy and his sweater was no longer enough to keep him warm. He was weary and dazed from Yuuri’s lips the night before, but more upset than anything that he may never taste them again.

The weather was too much for Viktor, really. He decided to march himself to the nearest open store and stay in the heat all day, until night. Until he’d be in yet another new place, hopefully with Yuuri. But most likely not.

The mall he reached was a ghost town of a shopping center. There were only employees and a few elderly women enjoying a meal in the food court. Viktor skipped sunrise and sat down on the bench nearest the mall entrance. The floor was faux granite and the walls were withered away white drywall, worn down from the hands of a million children. Hands. Viktor rested his head in his hands and let a few tears stream down his face. A million pretty girls waltzed in and out of his life. And he truly loved each of them. But Yuuri wasn’t a teenage girl fawning over a secret admirer. He was tangible and moonlit and exquisite. Divine. And gone, lost in the clutches of each day’s movement.

\--

Twelve years passed. Twelve years of distance, of never leaving each other’s heads. They ended up back at the same spot, only in summer.

It was five. Viktor was watching the sunset and balancing wildflowers, lip-gloss pink in summer, on his silver-haired head. His hair was shoulder-length now and pulled into a loose bun. He’d successfully pushed Yuuri out of his mind until he was standing right there, in front of Viktor. It was a blazing hot evening.

“Hi.” Yuuri said, the air leaving his lungs and his mouth growing parched.

“Hi.”

Yuuri collapsed into Viktor’s arms, letting out choked sobs. “So many people died tonight, Vik. I saw them all, and I-I couldn’t do anything. This is hell, hell, hell, I-I-”

Viktor didn’t know what to do, so he held Yuuri. Let him sob out the pain of murder, of crime, of torn families. It was a pain that sunrise sought to erase since its beginnings. But that didn’t matter to Yuuri. His suffering was too visceral, too real. “I hate this.” He muttered, tears still streaking down his face.

Viktor didn’t know what to say. Or do. He was not familiar with dealing with others’ emotions. He said the first things that came to his mind. “I do, too. But hey, at least I can make the world try and forget when morning comes.”

Yuuri pulled away. “Like hell you can. Let go of me, you asshole!” He stood up, deeply saddened. For a few moments, he didn't know what to say. He breathed heavily before continuing. “God, I should have known. I’ve waited and loved you for twelve years and your help is to try and mask the pain? Good fucking luck.” Yuuri whimpered, tears in his eyes.

“Yuuri, I’m-”

“Don’t talk to me. I hope I never see you again. And I hope the world never forgets the atrocities of night that you think you can just erase with the snap of your pretty little fingers.” Just like that, their pretty little wild-child love, the endless longing, broke apart like a flower at the hands of a lovesick teenager.

"I wish I'd never pined over your whiny ass."

And then, things went black for Viktor. It was far too late now. He’d wake up somewhere new, and Yuuri would be nothing more than a memory.


End file.
